Prague is
by Purrugly
Summary: Beside him, Bartimaeus felt not Nathaniel, not Ptolemy either. He was merely a boy he loved.  Set during The Golem's Eye, some Ptolemy/Bartimaeus, but mainly Nathaniel/B. May be slightly OOC?


At one fifteen in the morning, Prague was silent. The buildings stood in all their jaded glory, quietly observing the occasional figures that flitted through the grimy streets, their stone eyes half-shuttered with weariness. Prague was such an old city. Prague was such a tired city.

The ink-black sky seemed oppressive, as if it was closing in, like the lid of a coffin. There were no stars visible tonight: the smog was too thick.

I lounged against the windowsill, eyes trained to the street below. I'd been here for perhaps an hour, waiting for the young lungs of my master to ease into a sleepy rhythm. Although the world outside was black, there was an otherworldly glow about the hotel room which painted our surroundings a clinical grey. It was either due to the trapped magic of the city, or to the gentle humming of my essence, which in turn was energized by familiar territory, and was thus bathing our room with my barely-restrained magic. I could feel it pulsing at the edges of my physical prison like silver liquid.

Prague made me feel young again, if at a price.

Silently, I tore my eyes from the window and glanced over my shoulder. Despite my earlier arguments, I had to agree with Nathaniel – the place was a dump: peeling wallpaper, pseudo-art-deco lamps, the works. Mind you, I'd been in a few unfavourable places in my time, but this was clogging my otherwise cheerful demeanour for the simple reason that it positively _reeked _of human.

Nathaniel didn't help matters, of course.

Once Harlequin had shuffled off into the night, master and djinn had gone back to the hotel. It hadn't taken us long, but as we crossed back over the deserted Stone Bridge, I couldn't help but look out over Prague, strangely drawn to this ghost world like I was to the Other Place.

As we'd walked the cobblestone streets in silence, I lapsed into something of a daydream. It was probably these weeks of being trapped here in the physical world, but in the gloom of late evening, I fancied it was Ptolemy beside me, his chestnut-coloured hand brushing against my own. On instinct, I almost reached out – but then the slightly aquiline profile of Nathaniel would breach my conscious, and I pulled back into my memories.

Back at the hotel, one look at our delightful hotel room caused Nathaniel to mutter something about catching diseases and charge off into the bathroom, toiletries under arm, only to recoil sharply and slam the door on the colourful mould and dark tiles. I'd offered to clean it up for him (in a matter of speaking) but, in total honesty, my essence sagged from the small amount of magic performed in the graveyard.

Prague rejuvenated me, but she was a cruel mistress. Her bones were strong with Gladstone's curses and the billowing clouds of golem magic. As much as she gave, she took away.

In a sense, it reminded me a little of my particularly grumpy master.

Nathaniel had slouched (unwashed) off to bed, clattering around and causing a fuss if he thought I was peeking at him as he got changed.

"It's been three thousand years since I had that desire, _Natty boy,_" I lied with a waspish tone. (Even so, he couldn't hide his waif-like reflection in the windows.)

But now, as Nathaniel slumbered deeply in the dusty four-poster bed, I felt, more than before, the bulging of my exhausted essence. I'd tried to hide it, but I was spent. Ptolemy's body, always recreated by me with a lover's touch, felt no more effective against the pull of the Other World than a glass box containing a wild creature.

Holding a hand to the dim light of the room, I traced the underside of my wrist, searching for a pulse point. These bodies were so frail, I reflected. Like statues of ice.

The lump under the covers snuffled a little and rolled over. I looked over to Nathaniel, where I could see his charcoal lashes against pale, pale skin. So unlike Ptolemy, yet so similar: dawn and dusk, winter and spring (cold and hot).

Glancing back briefly towards the empty street below, I pushed off from the wall and moved silently over to the bed. The faded sheets dipped a little under Ptolemy's weight, and Nathaniel curled more tightly into a ball, slender fingers clenched into fists, his knuckles startlingly white. My gaze dipped over the sharp contours of his face, neck, the provocative jut of his naked shoulder and upper arm disappearing beneath the covers.

"It's been two weeks, Nathaniel," I murmured. "Are we going to keep playing pretend?"

My master shifted in his sleep, eyes moving beneath lavender eyelids.

It wasn't peculiar for djinn to provide certain... favours for their masters. It was practically part of the deal. Over the span of my existence, I'd indulged in many a romp. As a creature not of Earth, it was difficult for me to _feel _all that humans did when they were in, or making, love. Of course, I simulated the required emotions well enough for all my masters. That didn't bother me at all.

It was only when I was with Ptolemy did I feel _bound _somehow – as if the simple act of loving him had grounded my essence in a way that wasn't painful or constricting, but rather an alleviation of physical form. As if I were free.

And now, as I watched Nathaniel's chest rise and fall steadily beneath the sheets, the same feeling lapped at the edges of my subconscious.

I wasn't foolish enough to label it love. I had only loved once before, and I doubted it could happen again. But Nathaniel drew me in, like a dying man to water, or a sapling to the sky. The urge to explore his body was, at times, overwhelming. What would have happened if I'd taken his hand on the bridge? I saw the way Nathaniel's gaze was drawn to young couples and displays of affection. He was young: it was only natural. Maybe it was puberty. Maybe it was his upbringing; I doubted Mr & Mrs Underwood did much in the cuddle department.

Two weeks ago, I thought I'd curbed my desire. One moment of weakness – from both sides – and the urge would be gone, snuffed out. It was a simple transaction. It didn't (have) to mean anything.

Although in my mind I'd labelled it nothing more than a lapse of judgement, it was times like these when Nathaniel was absent that I wandered back to that memory, reliving every second of that breathless exchange.

The young minister had come home later than usual, stressed to the gills. I'd been loafing about his room all day and was as such delighted to finally have some company. Nathaniel didn't agree. After three separate arguments (punctured by still moments of surliness) he'd caved, slumping in an armchair and remaining there.

"_Nathaniel!" I cooed, creeping closer to him. His hands were over his eyes, mouth pulled dramatically down at the corners like a drooping puppet. He looked so much like a child._

"_Come on now, grumpy pants. Think of all the things that make this world worthwhile, like Jane Farrar's bum, or my effervescent personality."_

_Nathaniel remained stubbornly silent, although the corner of his mouth twitched. Encouraged, I changed into Ptolemy's form and cuddled up to my master's knees, propping my face up on my hands, balanced on either side of his thighs. Nathaniel didn't move. Bored by his lack of interest, I started to pinch his legs enthusiastically. Yelping like a trodden pup, Nathaniel's eyes flew on and he pinched me back, eyes laughing but mouth starting to twist into a slash of professionalism. As his pinches morphed into a few feeble punches, I could tell from the brightness of his cheeks and his panting breath that I was close to getting dismissed. _

_I could almost read his thoughts: What Would Ms Whitwell Say?_

_Fraternizing with the enemy, I silently replied._

_Nathaniel stopped grabbing at my arms and slumped back into the chair, hair in disarray. I sat back on my haunches, watching him. If he looked like a child before, he looked even younger now. There was something breathlessly youthful about his behaviour – even if he was starting to compose himself; sitting up a little straighter and combing his hair back with a single, fussy movement._

_Before I could stop myself, my hand snapped forwards to grip his wrist, his fingers still entangled in his hair. "Don't."_

_Nathaniel looked at me in surprise. We sat there in silence, the only sound the crackling of the fire behind me. He began to frown, his hand leaving his hair and my fingers sliding off his wrist to lie on the arm of the chair. _

"_Bartimaeus..." Although I was sensing another one of his (seemingly endless) lectures about Master and Slave, there was a foreign inflection to the way he said my name, as if a question teetered curiously on the edge of his lips, daring itself to make the leap, before falling backwards down his throat. _

_Nathaniel shook his head quickly, shaking the thought away. Almost loathing my eagerness, I leant forward a little, my chest pressing insistently against his shins._

"_Yes?" I asked quietly. _

_Gazing at me with an expression I couldn't place, Nathaniel opened his mouth once more and then closed it. He moved as if to get up, but I placed my other hand on the right arm of the chair, effectively keeping him from moving. I was pushing my luck, I knew. Any other master (save one) would have already sent me spinning backwards with a curse. But Nathaniel was wavering, and I was curious._

_His eyes danced nervously, and I could see myself reflected in them, a glassy fish-eye replica. If his cheeks were pink before they bloomed suddenly, and an almost-forgotten flush of desire surfaced briefly in my essence. _

_Nathaniel cleared his throat and leaned forwards. _

"_I'm sorry, Nathaniel."_

_And before I knew it, I was closing the distance. _

_I didn't know if he'd been kissed before (unlikely) but his startled mouth moved against mine softly, somehow seeming practiced (surprising). The air between us was so warm. I moved closer to stoke the fire. _

_At the moment my tongue touched his, Nathaniel gasped, and I knew I was gone._

It had been two weeks since then. Two weeks since the incident at the British Museum; two weeks since Nathaniel had thought me dead. (He didn't say as much, but I could read his face like a book.)

It had been two weeks since time had repeated itself, and instead of Ptolemy's body against the white sheets it had been Nathaniel's, shuddering as I trailed kisses down his torso and then moving, with ever increasing need, behind me.

There were so many things I wanted to say afterwards, as we lay on his bed, the sweet smell of sweat mingling with the dying smoke of the fire. Instead, the walls I'd built for five thousand years came back up.

"_There you go, Nat. Finally popped your cherry."_

The blush of dawn hesitantly painted our room a ghostly shade of silver. I started, feeling the stirrings of the ancient city around me, like the brief tail twitch of a slumbering dragon. During my brief doze I'd lain back against the sheets, but now I propped myself up against the headboard, watching the sky outside lighten just a little bit. Beside me, Nathaniel's pulse beat peacefully, the slight warmth of his body just touching mine.

I complained about the fortress of the physical world, but it was at times like these, when it was both still yet full, that I felt at home.

Folding against the comfortable bed, I turned to watch Nathaniel. He'd remained curled towards me, but now one of his hands was inches from my bare torso.

Suddenly, Nathaniel's eyes fluttered and opened. Sleep clouded his pupils, and I remained still until they focused on my face.

I shouldn't be so close, I realised. He'd wanted me to keep an eye on the street outside at the door. Instead, I'd been cuddling up to his sleeping form and reminiscing about the night he'd seemingly forgotten.

Just as I was about to move, Nathaniel's hand inched closer and touched my right side. Involuntarily, I shivered.

"I thought..." His voice was raspy from sleep, and he cleared it once before continuing. "I thought I asked you to watch our surroundings?"

"You did." Instead of moving off, like he probably wanted me to, I relaxed back into the bed. His fingers brushed against my bare skin. Briefly, the memory of his comforting weight against my back made me shiver again.

"Are you cold?"

I looked back at Nathaniel, his eyes now alert. His hair was rumpled from sleep, and dark locks fell before his gaze.

_Stop pushing your luck. _"A little."

Nathaniel hesitated before moving his right hand and pulling the covers away from underneath me. Lifting my hips off the bed, I caught a sudden glimpse of his bony hip and a bare thigh. Tossing the sheets over me, Nathaniel remained on his side. I could feel his gaze tracing my profile as I fussed with the covers, adjusting my loincloth and putting a polite distance between us.

The thought of what other djinn might say to this situation was drowned out by my pulsing essence. Last night it had been from exhaustion, but now it was due to the proximity of my adolescent master.

We lay there in silence for a while. As the day was born, sounds of a waking city drifted up from the street and beyond our hotel door. The sun hadn't touched our building yet, but I knew it would be dipping across the slanted rooftops and the tops of windows, its sickly yellow glow cutting through the muted palette of Prague.

Presently, I became aware of Nathaniel's closeness. He'd somehow shuffled closer to me, and was now curled on his side, fingers tripping over my ribs like piano keys, his hot breath causing my right nipple to stiffen. I was surprised at how easy it was to lie here with him. Our ocean had calmed, lulled by the promise of a new day and a night two weeks ago.

Prague had that effect on people.

"Bartimaeus."

Once again, I turned to look at my master. His eyes were watching his white fingers play across my caramel skin. "Can de- djinn... Can they fall in love?"

I thought of Ptolemy, and I thought of the fussy, strong, ambitious boy beside me.

"Yeah, we can." We were quiet once more. Nathaniel's eyelashes moved slowly, like the wings of a butterfly. "We can fall in love."

Nathaniel's gaze met mine. I was struck suddenly at the absurdity of our situation: here was I, Bartimaeus, sharing a bed with John Mandrake, British Assistant to the Head of Internal Affairs... But I couldn't shake the feeling of _rightness._

The boy raised himself up on an elbow, hand now splayed against my bare chest as if testing for a heartbeat that wasn't there. Nathaniel moved closer to me, and we were kissing.

His mouth was wet. Our mouths slipped together slowly, and this time it was his tongue that lapped at my lower lip and brushed against mine coyly. I reached up to cup his face, noses bumping against each other as we kissed with growing intensity. Nathaniel pulled away in order to bit my lip.

This simple movement set my essence humming with desire. I pushed my master to lie on his back, twisting my body to mould against his side, sliding my left leg between his knees.

Nathaniel moaned softly, arms wrapping around my torso and pulling me flush against him. A thrill of delight coursed through me as I recognized his hardened length shyly rubbing between us. Pulling away, I fastened onto his neck, sucking and pulling his blood to the surface, creating a mauve oval of ownership against his pale neck.

Nathaniel's head arched back, his hands gripping me tightly. His chest moved raggedly, this simple action enough to warrant an upwards jerk of his hips.

I smirked against his skin.

Pulling away, our mouths met. When Nathaniel got like this, he was a sloppy kisser, his lips and tongue clashing in desire. To be honest, I loved it. It was wet and messy and entirely driven by need. It was primitive.

Ptolemy and I always made love slowly, the moonlight bathing our bodies and muting our hushed whimpers for fear of waking the household. But Nathaniel, although his touches were uncertain and fluttering, loved fully. He poured his want into me, and I returned it in full. There was something about the boy that made me feel... raw.

A secret part of me hoped that one day, one day, we'd take our time. He'd let me take control, allow himself to relinquish his power to me, a mere demon. He'd let me worship his human body, stroking and loving and _desperate. _That's what this felt like. It felt as if Nathaniel couldn't imagine this happening again, so he pushed himself to love me quickly and fiercely, his tongue searing and his hands claiming.

I danced our battle just as needily. Whilst it had happened once, that had only just been enough. But now, as Nathaniel rolled me over to pin me to the bed, sheets kicked to the floor – I knew that this would never be enough. I would always want to drown in everything that was _him. _I could never tear myself away.

Nathaniel slipped down my body, kissing my torso as his hand travelled further, tugging Ptolemy's loincloth free and pressing shaking palm to my own erection.

After only a few moments I pulled Nathaniel's head upwards, his red lips open, a string of spit connecting us. I shivered as the cold air hit my heat.

"Nathaniel," I breathed, "please."

As my hand fell away he ducked his head, bestowing a surprisingly gentle kiss to my slick length. Wriggling upwards, he joined our mouths, allowing me to taste myself on his tongue. I moaned softly.

Nathaniel slowed his kiss, his lips hovering over mine. Suddenly, his movements were very intimate, and I had a flash of what _could be..._

He pressed his mouth to mine and then kissed my cheekbone. I opened my eyes to meet his gaze. Nathaniel's hair was falling haphazardly in front of his face. His cheeks were flushed, his mouth a red bloom.

"I never forgot, you know," he whispered suddenly, his eyes suddenly wide, yearning for me to understand. "I never forgot what happened between us the first time."

Barely concealing a hot rush of affection, I pulled Nathaniel back down to kiss him. My essence swirled and grew with each moment; its roar of intermingling lust and love pounded in place of a pulse. Against my chest, I could feel Nathaniel's fluttering heartbeat.

We stayed like this for a few moments, kissing slowly, savouring the taste of one another. Distantly, I could hear the sounds of a waking city. In my peripheral vision, the pale fingers of dawn were creeping across the floor.

As we broke apart, I moved, now almost thrumming with desire, to my hands and knees. Nathaniel's hand stopped me, and as I looked at him with quiet surprise, he flushed.

"Please."

Falling onto my back, Nathaniel kissed me once.

Then, breathless anticipation. Then, sweet pain. Then, quickening thrusts.

"Nathaniel," I gasped. Shivering with the swell of an orgasm, I wrapped my legs more tightly around him. The boy responded by leaning down and, unexpectedly, biting my neck.

Afterwards, we lay side by side, much like the first time it happened. We're still tingling, and beside me I can feel Nathaniel's pulse only just beginning to slow down. He loops an arm around me, and I tuck myself into his chest.

Such a sweet respite from my aching bones and essence, I thought, but something too precious to trade in for quick relief.

As the city yawned and shuddered into action around us, the ancient magic humming quietly and the dawn light bathing our room in pink and gold, I felt not Nathaniel beside me, not Ptolemy either.

He was merely a boy I loved.

"Bartimaeus," Nathaniel says to the canopy of the four poster, his arm tightening around me.

"Yes?"

"I don't want to play pretend."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't want to pretend that I don't love you."

"Nathaniel?"

"Yes?"

Prague has always been my safe place.


End file.
